The Five Shades of Ivan
by knottedblonde
Summary: He kept his head down and his heart closed off and his mind racing. Logic and theory. Cleverness and learning. The love he knew was confined to the pages of his books; the thought of a person capable of snaring his soul in such a way was terrifying and unthinkable. The Fives Shades of Ivan.
1. Black

**Not enough attention is paid to Grand Bazaar characters.**

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><p>He heard her before he saw her, his eyes leaving the minnows he had been observing in the river to find hers in the beginnings of dusk.<p>

"Ah, Gretel. Good evening." He couldn't explain why he always talked to her so formally; perhaps it was the fact that she was a friend of Dirk's and by extension he felt the need to set an example. But at the same time she couldn't be much younger than he was- despite the feminine nature of her clothing it was obvious that she was a fully grown woman; the slight tension of the buttons about her chest providing a more than unneeded hint.

He caught himself staring and returned his gaze back to the minnows, the familiar creep of blush rising on the back of his neck as she spoke. "Hello Ivan." She grinned, standing a little farther away than necessary. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I was just watching the fish." He opened the book in his arms and gestured to the river, closing the awkward gap between them and allowing her to see the diagrams on the pages. Perhaps she was younger than he thought, or less experienced with the opposite sex- regardless, her cheeks quickly ignited at his closeness. "I've been reading quite a lot about fish in my spare time as of late. I wanted to observe some too, but with my tutoring schedule I can't always find time during the day."

She grinned at him once more, a piece of golden hair falling out from under the ridiculous hat she wore. "Oh."

He supposed he wasn't warranting much for conversation. But then, Gretel had always been quiet. On the few occasions he had seen her mulling about the house in search of Dirk they hadn't exchanged more than the usual hello and a bit of small talk. Or maybe it was just him- the way Dirk told it, Gretel was quite the conversationalist... He cleared his throat slightly, closing the book and folding it under his arm. "Are you interested in fish, Gretel?"

Her cheeks went off once more, her thumb reaching up to rub at her chin. "Well, not really-"

"Oh-"

"-but I only just got a fishing rod today, actually. I was hoping to try it out, but I've been so busy..."

He hadn't noticed the rod in her hands until then, the late summer light beginning to disappear in the early evening and hide her in shadows. "Oh, is that so? There's supposed to be quite the variety of fish in this river. You've picked a good spot to do some fishing!"

She let out a tiny chuckle. "I hope so... Although if the sun goes down any more, I wont be able to see what I'm doing."

"Oh, right. Well I'll leave you to it."

He was five paces away when a sudden thought overcame him; glancing back over his shoulder, he called for her. "If you ever want to borrow a few books- learn the theory of it, you know..." It was rare for him to word something so badly, the back of his neck going off again as she laughed.

"Thanks, Ivan."

He watched her draw back the line for a moment, turning his back as the lure propelled into the water.

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><p><strong>This is an in between project I'm working on as I write the sequel to my other story, Lavender. I've recently developed a love affair with Grand Bazaar; the game play is quite a bit different than that of the other games in the series. Although it can be a bit tedious, I highly recommend trying it out if you haven't already! (Seriously. Even if you have to resort to doing yucky things like downloading an emulator... Try it. Buy it. You'll enjoy the challenge!)<strong>

**P.S: Taking requests for any other fics you would like to see published...**


	2. Purple

**Thank you for all your reviews!**

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><p>He paused in the act of replacing a book on the shelf, his fingers running down the spine of a particularly thick volume and tracing the gold lettering of the title. He had been spending a great deal of time lost in thought lately. He had noticed it for the first time the other day, having caught his eyes staring blearily on the page without taking in a word of what he was trying to read.<p>

Gretel had started coming around the house more frequently. He had at first pinned the reasoning behind Dirk- well, she was still new to the village, he supposed. And Dirk had always had a friendly nature; for a while he hadn't been suspicious. And then the other week, she had come over unexpectedly early- so early in fact, Dirk hadn't even gotten out of bed. The usual small talk had been worn out and all at once-

_"__What are you drinking?"_

He had been honest in answering- chamomile tea. Like had had every morning; as he told her, he had read that it both soothed the stomach and promoted a better night's sleep.

_"__You can borrow the book, if you want. There are many different uses for the herbs you can find in the hills around the village. Mint for example, promotes circulation…"_

And so he had sent her on her way with the book in question, the familiar satisfied jolt in his stomach sounding after having imparted knowledge on another person. He had expected to see her in a few days or even a week's time, after she finished the book of course.

But he was wrong. The next day- and every day since- she had caught him on his way to work and unceremoniously handed him a bunch of chamomile, her cheeks a rosy pink as she grinned and muttered, "For your tea."

_"__For your tea."_

His eyes went out of focus as her words bounced about his head, his fingers still tracing the binding of the book. There was no other way to think of it; although he was hardly experienced in matters of love he had read enough to know that Gretel had developed a certain amount of affection for him… Now it was just a matter of dissecting his own feelings about it. There was of course, Dirk's feelings to think about- if in fact, Dirk had any…

"Ivan?"

He jumped slightly; he hadn't heard her come in but turned to his right to see her smiling at him, clutching the book he had leant her to her chest. He cleared his throat slightly, trying to arrange his features into a calm smile. "Hello, Gretel."

She went a little pink as he said her name, her hands pressing the book more firmly against her chest. "Hi." Her eyes followed the extension of his arms to where his fingers were still tracing the book's spine. "Lots of books."

He let his hand fall from the book and awkwardly to his side, pretending not to notice as her eyes followed the movements of his fingers. "Oh, yes. They're my father's; he left me his library when he passed away."

She glanced back at the book shelf, smiling again. "That's nice."

"Yeah." He tried to follow her eyes and see which volume she was looking at, but caught himself. "… Dirk doesn't read too often." He felt foolish bringing up his younger brother, but a part of him wanted to gauge her reaction (and even more foolishly, try to dissect any feelings that may be lingering there on his behalf.) "That's why I want to read them all. If I do, then I can tell Dirk what they're about."

He was surprised to see her frown, her lower lip jutting out at him as her eyebrows furrowed. "Why do you do that?" He must have looked slightly offended, because she scrambled to correct herself, her cheeks going a shade darker. "No! I mean, that's wonderful but- if he doesn't want to read, why do you bother?"

Why did he bother? What sort of question was that? He struggled for a moment, both with finding an answer and keeping his features pleasant, his hands folding together in front of him. "Well…" He wasn't sure what made him say it; perhaps the sense of pride and superiority that struggled to exist in his stomach, yet he felt compelled to differentiate himself from Dirk- to make himself seem more impressive, formidable. "I'm his older brother, but I also have to raise him. I've got to make sure he makes the most of himself. After all, I'm all he's got, since our parents are gone…"

He caught sight of the confused and sympathetic look on her face and suddenly felt ashamed of himself, exploiting his little brother and their parents for sympathy… He turned back to the book shelf and away from the piercing look in her grey eyes, his fingers finding the binding of the book once more. "We… We should talk about something else."

"… Yeah." He risked a glance back at her and was surprised to find her blushing even more furiously, her cheeks becoming even more red when she extended the volume clutched against her chest towards him. "Here. Your book."

"Oh." There was a certain amount of awkwardness about them now; he half wished he hadn't suggested changing the subject. He gently took the book from her, folding it under his arm. "Thank you. Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh, yes." She smiled a little but still didn't meet his gaze; she seemed unwilling to elaborate on the matter and instead reached up to pick at the frail edge of a thinner volume on the shelf, leaving him to stare awkwardly about for a subject.

He had just opened his mouth to ask if she wanted to know the contents of the book she was touching when all at once she turned a deep shade of crimson, abandoning the book in favor of looking him straight in the face. "That must be hard for you, Ivan. With Dirk, I mean…"

He felt the surprise show on his face and quickly rearranged his features into a polite smile, trying to ignore the rush through his stomach. "I- yes. Thank you for understanding." He paused. "He had even less time with our parents than I did. That's why I want to make sure he grows up right."

"Well, I think he's about there." Gretel grinned, looking up at him from under the brim of her hat. "He's what, 18? 19? I felt pretty grown-up at that age."

So he had been right- she was older than Dirk. He caught himself grinning back. "Well regardless, we're all the family we've got. We look out for each other."

"And you do a good job of it." She must have spoken without thinking, he thought, as Gretel went a deeper red, quickly turning towards the door. "Anyway, I still have a lot of work to do. I better get going."

"Of course."

He had just turned back to the book shelf when he felt a tap on his shoulder, a bundle of chamomile extended into his hands. "I almost forgot," She as saying, already back on her way out of the door.

"For your tea."

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><p><strong>As said before, still taking requests for other "5 Shades of _" series. <strong>

**Please read and review!**


	3. Blue

**Thanks for the reviews, the follows, and the favs!**

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><p><em>"<em>_Will you calm down? So me and Antoinette were out a little late tonight-"_

_ "__A little late? Dirk, you just came stumbling in here like a love-drunk idiot at half passed three-"_

_ "__Just because you wouldn't know love if it snuck up behind you and jumped up your-"_

_ "__Dirk, that's enough!"_

It had been a long time since he had spent an afternoon brooding into the town's river, but then again it had been a while since he and Dirk had fought like they had the previous night- or morning, he supposed. He could feel the various emotions churning through his stomach like the water below the bridge: guilt, anger, and as much as he hated to admit it… Jealousy and doubt.

He tightened his grip on the bridge's railing, glaring into the water. Yes, that was what was bothering him. And as much as the fight with Dirk had unsettled him, it was the fact that he knew that there was an element of truth to his brother's words- he had never experienced love, at least not the way his brother had. He was cold by nature; any emotion he felt was either entwined in logic or confined to the pages of the occasional novel he read in the dead of the night…

"Ivan, hey!"

He jumped and felt his neck go red, struggling not to look too sullen as Gretel approached. No, perhaps those feelings weren't only confined to pages. Arguably, as of late he was having a difficult time defining what it was he felt for Gretel- certainly he had developed an affection for her. It was difficult not too; he saw her almost every morning on his way to work, on the weekends at the bazaar. And it was hard not to find her likeable- he was beginning to catch himself thinking about her at work, even her ridiculous hat fixing itself in his mind as no longer hideous but rather an adorable quirk. And certainly Dirk was otherwise occupied with Antoinette, after last night that was certainly clear-

He felt his features fall back into a pensive frown as she approached, standing beside him on the bridge. "Ivan?" She repeated, reaching out to tug hesitantly on his sleeve. "You okay?"

"Hello, Gretel. Yes, sorry." He paused, sighing and releasing the bridge to run a hand through his hair. For a fraction of a moment he registered the fact that years ago his mother would have scolded him for musing his hair in such a way, a thought that only prompted another frustrated sigh.

She turned to lean against the railing beside him, frowning as she glanced at the waves below. "… Are you sure?"

He paused. "No." He reached up to smooth his hair back into place, glancing back at her. "I, uh, scolded Dirk last night. I lost my temper, and I said some things that were a lot harsher than I meant them to be. I… I feel terrible."

"Oh."

He wished she would say something more meaningful than a one syllable word and turned back to brood into the river. He felt vaguely annoyed with himself now- what had he expected, really?

"Well… You know, sometimes things like this happen. Especially when you live in such a close proximity to each other. I'm sure if I lived with someone on my farm, we'd fight occasionally. And I mean… fighting is good sometimes. It clears the air. Now you two can start fresh." He felt her lean towards him and nudge his shoulder gently, grinning up at him.

Instinctively he leant back, pressing the length of his side against hers. "Are you trying to cheer me up, Gretel?" He chuckled. He felt a slightly jolt in his stomach as her cheeks went a bit pink, and was surprised to feel his own neck burning back.

"Is it working?" She said a little sheepishly, breaking their contact to turn towards him.

He chuckled. "Yes. And you're right. Everyone loses their temper from time to time, and I'm no exception. But the fact remains that I was too harsh."

A breeze caught the back of her hat and sent her hands flying to hold it down on her head. "Well, what can you do other than apologize and try to do better, right?"

The breeze kept her hair flying about her face and before he could think it through his hand had reached up to fix it; taking a strand of her blond hair between his fingers he tucked it behind her ear, only vaguely aware that his hand was lingering about her cheek. "Gretel…" The tip of his thumb barely grazed her face, sending the skin beneath it glowing. "You know, talking to you always makes me feel better…"

He let his fingers dip beneath her jaw, her lower lip quivering slightly as he pulled back, forcibly placing his hand in his pocket. "I…" For once in his life he couldn't find the words, couldn't process the emotions he wanted to convey- all he felt was contained in the unsaid words that passed between them, the pink of her cheeks and the red of her lips compelling him towards her-

But he operated in logic and reason, neither of which were telling him that kissing her would be productive. Or perhaps he was a coward, and fear of this unknown and strange -feeling- kept him planted on his side of the bridge, his eyes leaving her face and returning to the depths of the river. "No, never mind… I should go."

He left her standing alone on the bridge, his heart pounding and his legs shaking- yes, his feelings weren't just confined to pages after all…

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><p><strong>Please read and review!<strong>


	4. Yellow

**Once again, thank you for your reviews.**

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><p>He had never been a good cook.<p>

Try as he may, cooking was something he couldn't master through reading, no amount of theory making up for a lack of instinct when it came to spices and complimentary flavors… He poured a half cup of cream over the sauteing potatoes, flinching slightly as the oil bubbled up and jumped from the pan, a stray splash landing on the top of his hand and forcing a curse past his lips.

Furrowing his brow, he rolled up his sleeves, carefully arranging the potatoes in the pan. Gretel was no cook either, he had discovered. He had his suspicions, after having one of his mother's cook books returned with multiple stains and dog-eared pages. But it wasn't until the Cooking Festival, when whatever she had been attempting to cook had amounted to little more than a burnt and disgusting mess.

Funny how, these days, no matter what he was focused on, his thoughts always drifted back to her. They had grown close in the past few weeks. More than just close, he supposed; there was scarcely a day now in which he didn't see her. How many mornings had she spent walking him to work, occasionally catching bugs for his amusement- better yet, how many lazy weekend afternoons did they spend lounging by the river, Gretel dipping the end of her fishing pole in the water as he told her about the book he just finished or his favorite students in the city?

Not that things had become physical- granted, occasionally she would touch his arm or he would guide her gently by the small of her back, but each time anything of the nature happened her cheeks would ignite with blush and she would find an excuse to close herself off to him, either by leaving or changing the subject… But still. He supposed things were as physical as they could be in a town in which couples were expected to marry without so much as a few kisses under their belt… Not that he was considering marriage, of course.

"Hello?"

He jumped slightly and nearly sent the frying oil all over himself, inwardly cursing as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, hello Gretel." He turned back to the pan, frowning and fully aware that she could see the telltale blush on the back of his neck. "What are you doing here so late?" He asked, frowning at the bottoms of the potatoes as they began to crisp.

He heard her footsteps sound through the kitchen, coming to a rest beside him. "Sorry. I just finished your book and figured I'd drop it off if you were still awake." He glanced at her, the most recent book he had lent her clutched to her chest. "What are you cooking?"

"Cream croquettes…" He said vaguely, gesturing to the counter beside her. "Would you mind passing the flour?"

She obliged and took a half step closer, bending a little too closely to the pan for his comfort. "At this time of night?"

"Well- they're for Dirk…" Unconsciously he reached his one hand not preoccupied with the spatula to grip the fabric of her dress about her waist, pulling her back slightly. "Sorry, they tend to splash- I wanted them to be a surprise and he's out with Antoinette right now. They're his favorites… Things have been a little tense as of late and I hope they make up for our argument."

She was back to leaning again, her hair hanging off her shoulder and almost settling in the pan and she closed her eyes, inhaling. "Hm." She hummed, grinning up at him, her cheeks still slightly pink from his touch. "They would sure make a good apology in my book-"

He could see the oil beginning to bubbled up again; "Gretel-" He said hurriedly, grabbing at her waist once more as the oil began to splash, pulling her back until both their backs were flat against the edge of his dining table. "Sorry- I just-" He felt his neck go off again as he struggled to keep his composure. "I've already splashed oil on myself twice tonight, I don't want you to get burned too."

She looked slightly alarmed, her cheeks a deep crimson, her fingers still clutching tightly to his book. "Oh- right. Of course. Thank you for worrying."

He caught his hand as it tightened its grip about her waist, letting it swing awkwardly back to his side. "No, my apologies. I'm sorry. It's just- my mother was a very good cook. And I want to make sure Dirk gets someone to cook for him like that and I'm just- cooking is stressful for me."

She frowned slightly, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Why is it stressful?"

He recoiled slightly, frowning down at her. "I- I want to be able to cook for Dirk like our mother did."

Her cheeks went slightly pink as she glanced downward, her eyes fixed firmly on her feet as she let out a sigh. "Ivan... There's something I've been meaning to say to you."

"And what's that?" He spared another glance at the simmering potatoes before he focused his attention back to her blushing features.

"Well… Okay. It's nice that you want to cook for Dirk to make things right. But… You aren't your mother, Ivan. And it's not fair to you to always fill your parents' shoes. Don't you think he'd rather have his brother cook for him, even if it's bad, then have someone do a poor imitation of something he's never going to get back?"

He felt the angry blush rise on his neck and for a moment he had half a mind to yell at her- she hardly knew them, how could she make such an assumption… But as usual, the logical portion of his mind came to play. Certainly, she had spent a lot of time with the two of them over the course of three seasons. And she certainly was as close with Dirk as she was with him, surely she knew his brother's feelings of the matter… She was right, of course. He wasn't a parent. He was a brother…

He let out an angry sigh, running a hand through his hair and quickly smoothing it back into place, avoiding the slightly muddled expression on Gretel's face."You're right." He admitted, noticing through his lashes the relief that spread through her features. It felt strange, the words passing through his lips so easily, but the weight in which they carried was heavy- he hardly ever admitted to being wrong, if he ever was. "You're right Gretel, I- Thank you." He reached for her, reminding himself like a child reaching for its mother, his hands boldly clasping one of hers and holding it to his chest. "I've been treating him like a child all this time… You're right. He needs a brother, not a poor imitation of a lost reality."

Her cheeks looked hot and blotchy but none the less she squeezed his hands, smiling nervously up at him. "Sorry if I overstepped."

"Not at all." He gripped her hand back fiercely, aware that the intensity of the moment was showing on his face, his own cheeks beginning to grow rosy as well. "Thank you, Gretel. You're so smart and kind, I don't know what I would do without you… I..."

He hesitated, but allowed himself to act without thinking; leaning forward he pressed his lips to hers, his chin gently nudging hers and forcing her jaw to tilt upward. She jumped slightly beneath him, the book she had been holding falling between them and opening at their feet as she reached for him, her free hand tugging firmly to his sleeve and pulling him closer until they were firmly pressed together.

He pulled back quickly, wanting to see the amount of blush on her face. He wasn't disappointed; her cheeks were blotchy, the redness beginning to leak down to her chest, her breast heaving slightly as she struggled to regain her breath. "I-Ivan…" She paused, licking her lips, her nose wrinkling slightly. "What's the smell?"

He glanced back to the stove in horror, the oil in the frying pan crackling merrily about smoking, blackened cream croquettes.

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><p><strong>Hehe. Read and Review please!<strong>


	5. Red

**This chapter has mature themes implied. Please enjoy.**

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><p>It had started a week after he had burn the croquettes. And it had started with books too, as these things somehow always had for him. This time it had been the dictionary that had caught him; in his weekly ritual of reorganizing the library the old tattered book had fallen from the shelf. He hadn't thought much of it at first, until he noticed the page it had stuck on.<p>

The L's. It was more a frank curiosity that made him pause, his finger pressing against the lines of words until he found it. _Love_. It had always intrigued him. What's the purpose of love? Of social bonding? To simply keep mothers mothering and the human race moving? A cluster of emotions that prevented extinction? The entire thing was fascinating to him in an objective manner, the way it was to all men who had yet to have their hearts excited in such a way.

He had suspected trouble when he caught himself absently fingering the corner of the page, sacrilegiously dog-earring it; he became even more suspicious when the thought occurred to him that he could have recited the entire definition, had anyone wanted him to. It wasn't until a few weeks later when he caught himself half wishing Gretel would ask him why he carried the dictionary around with him that realized he was far too gone to save.

8 paces now…

Autumn was in full swing when Gretel's lips had lingered on his just a fraction of a moment too long after their goodnight kiss. Before long they had started lingered in a whole other manner, their bodies pressed close together in the shadowy corner beside his house in meetings that he left his hair mused and his collar rumpled. And when the leaves finally fell from the trees he had sent her home with a slightly questionable romance novel, hoping the words would keep her warm in ways that he hadn't discovered yet.

He had flipped back a fair few pages, finding the definition for _sex_.

7...

Dirk had caught them in the kitchen just before Christmas – not doing anything questionable, of course – but he supposed he had been staring and Gretel had blushed and the words "Get a room, already" were tossed haphazardly over his morning tea. The room they had gotten at his suggestion was hers, and that evening she had cried his name out as he moved inside her, his sweat dripping down his neck. Even weeks later his eyes had gone out of focus at the thought, the moment marked in his memory as the moment he felt… Better, he supposed. He had flipped back a few pages to the familiar dog-ear, and for a moment he considered _lust_.

She had hummed quietly in her sleep the second night had slept over, her fingers finding his hair. His heart failed slightly and his eyes roamed up a few words. _Love. Love. Love. _The next time he had had a free moment he had found a pencil between his fingers, the graphite flowing from the tip and underlining and circling the words he thought the most important.

4 paces now…

The first time he said the words was probably the biggest regret of his life, in that the moment is entirely unremarkable. She had been steeping his tea and Dirk had been complaining over a cold cup of coffee, the remnants of sleep not entirely out of his eyes when he had the good sense to check the clock. He had fixed his tie crookedly and reached for his suitcase, abandoning them at the kitchen table and yelling the three words carelessly over his shoulder. But she had said them back without a hesitation, and Dirk had tried not to notice either of them blush.

…2.

She had finally asked about the dictionary in the spring. She had caught her finger on the dog-eared page and had opened it to find the definition mercilessly and mindlessly scribbled upon. She had laughed and called him crazy, and he had muttered something about the word being the key principle to a project one of his students had been working on.

He bought the blue feather at that week's bazaar and had, in his usual cowardly manner, carried it around in his jacket pocket for the next few weeks.

1…

The early summer air was still warm in the dark. He had decided long ago that he wanted this whole matter to end the way it started- with books.

He could see her through her window now, her head bent over a novel, her back shifting slightly in the kitchen chair.

No. Not a novel. A dictionary.

He paused slightly, his hand half raised. She couldn't have been more than half way through… The M's.

He would go inside and take the book from her, maybe scold her like his mother used to when he was small. "You shouldn't read in the dark, it's bad for your eyes."

He would see her page and know what he would find before he actually found it- _Marriage_.

He would tell her it was late and that she had read more than enough for the evening. Her cheeks would blush and her smile would falter slightly but she would agree, reaching to relieve him of the book.

He would reach inside his jacket and slip the blue feather between the pages, marking her place in the M's.

He took a deep breath.

_Knock._

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><p><strong>The end. Please read and review.<strong>


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